


Beneath My Wings

by Skalidra



Series: Chance to Fly [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 07:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11099775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Dick loves Slade's wings. They're black, grey flecked, and absolutely massive, and he loves every bit of them. Except occasionally how, when Slade spends the night, they completely cover and overheat him. That he could do without.





	Beneath My Wings

**Author's Note:**

> So, Firefright wrote this lovely little duo of JayRoy stories, with fluff and adorableness and excellent relationships being built. And then... And then I came along and went, "You know what this universe needs? Porn. Unapologetic porn." So here you are. Have some lovely wingfic Sladin, because I wanted to. (Enjoy!)
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

Dick stirs awake in the same state that he does most mornings. Pressed down against the comfort of his own sheets by a hot, familiar weight draped over his back, one leg between his own and warm breath coming out in slow, even patterns against his neck. He twitches, takes in a deeper breath and shifts a bit more purposefully to feel out the rest of the contact. One of Slade's massive wings is blanketing what his torso doesn't cover, as usual; he can feel the heat of it completely covering his own wing where the tip is just barely extending off the edge. (Slade's must be flat out hanging off.)

There's a hand at his waist, palm broad and flat against his skin. His other wing is somewhat flattened against the sheet by Slade's weight, and by the curl of fingers into the shorter feathers at the top. That wing is just as covered as the other, and it's getting maybe a little bit uncomfortably hot now, which is pretty standard too when the weather's not cold.

He's going to have to extract himself. As nice as it is having Slade draped over him, he's hungry and he's got work to do. It's just getting out that's the problem. To that end, Dick opens his eyes and very carefully pulls his less-pinned wing inwards, folding it beneath the spread of Slade's and then shifting sideways, trying to pull away and—

Slade moves, heavy arm curling around his waist and dragging him back that couple of inches he'd managed to gain. "Where do you think you're going?" is murmured against his neck, low with the last traces of sleep's influence but quickly evening out. Slade wakes easily and cleanly, which is a thing that Dick's envied and been frustrated by in turn over the years.

He groans, loudly and openly, now that he knows the attempt is done. "You're hot and I'm hungry," he complains, and tries not to pay too much attention to how Slade's hand is now pressing flat against his lower stomach, or how the thumb is teasing at the edge of his belly button.

But _he_ wakes slower, and his phrasing is off enough that Slade ends up giving a low laugh, shifting against him and _oh_ , yes, that's definitely a morning erection pressing up against the back of his thigh. Hot and hard and also a very familiar feeling.

"I know you are," Slade drawls, and then he can't ignore the hand anymore because it's sliding downwards to parts of anatomy that are all too interested in Slade’s weight and voice, curling firmly around his slightly hard cock and putting an end to any real resistance he might have tried to give. His breath catches, and Slade hums approval into his ear, pressing a kiss to the skin beneath it. "You've just got a never-ending appetite, kid."

Dick pushes his hands and forehead into the bed, hips pressing up against the weight of Slade behind him. "That's definitely _you_ , Slade," he says, half in a groan. "I just want _food_."

Slade squeezes him, draws another moan and then offers a mocking, "Oh, is that all? Am I just taking advantage of you, Grayson?" Slade's other hand slides away from his wing, a moment before Slade lifts a few inches off of him, wings stretching out and flaring wide, blocking most of the light seeping through the edges of the curtained window and then flapping down once, lightly, against his own in a mimicry of the very real, very hard impacts that might force him to the ground in a real fight. "Poor little hero, all at my mercy."

Dick shivers a little bit at that tone, which is really all the encouragement Slade _didn't_ need.

"You're not going anywhere," Slade continues, voice dropping into a lower, smoother register that sounds a whole lot like some of the more dangerous tones he uses on about-to-be-victims (and Dick _likes_ it, which always makes him feel a little weird but he can't even hope to deny it at this point). "You're going to stay right here beneath me, little hero. You're going to let me have you; you _want_ to, don't you? To put aside all that heroic responsibility and do something _wrong_ for once?"

The breath that comes then is shaky; Slade has had way too much practice at saying exactly the right things to get him from zero to a hundred _real_ fast, and this isn't top of the list but there is definitely something appealing about thinking that he's under _Deathstroke_ , not just Slade.

"Pretty sure I've done you more than once," he points out, and Slade chuckles, pulling just a little further away and then moving, reaching up for the shelves hooked up above the head of the bed.

Slade lets go of his cock, pulling a protesting groan from him before there’s the distinct snap of a cap. Then lips, warm against the base of his neck, and slick, delving fingertips sliding down between his legs. “Yes,” Slade murmurs, teeth grazing against his skin. “We’ve definitely had more than that; you’ve let me in under your skin, haven’t you, little hero?”

Dick groans at both the sensation of Slade’s fingers sliding into him and what may have inadvertently been a double entendre on the level that usually only he says. Probably not on purpose — Slade’s teasing tends to be on the drier side, not the punny one — but of course Slade will never admit to it being anything but on purpose. He’s a bit of a control freak like that.

He’s still slightly relaxed from the night before, so Slade’s fingers make quick work of preparation, as Slade leaves careful, lingering marks on his shoulders; nothing high enough that he’ll need to hide it, as they’ve agreed. Slade’s teeth flirt higher, scraping over the line of his spine and high beneath his ears, but that security lets him press up into the touch without worry. Slade’s possessive, but their rules are clear and Slade is to-the-bone honorable. His word is something only broken in the most extreme of circumstances; Dick won’t leave with any marks that violate their agreement.

Slade’s fingers linger even once he feels open enough to move on, thrusting lazily inside him and curling to massage at his prostate with a touch firm enough to make him shudder and moan into the bed. His back twists as his hands press into the sheets, pushing up the couple of inches he has before he meets the warmth and breadth of Slade’s chest. Slade’s laugh is a low, dangerous thing that manages to give him a little flicker of lust-bright wariness, even knowing he’s safe.

“Eager?” is the self-satisfied question, murmured into his ear. “All wound around my fingers and still wanting more.”

It’s punctuated by a harder press of Slade’s fingers, arching his back and making his wings flare wide, and that makes him absolutely certain that this double entendre was not even _trying_ to be a hidden one.

“ _Slade_ ,” he gasps, pressing up into the touch as he tries to get the breath to say more than just that.

Slade still sounds all too smug when he answers, “Yes, little hero?”

Dick gives a smaller groan at the continued motion of Slade’s fingers — he never makes it _easy_ — but manages to pull together after that to say, “Slade, I will be very— _Ah_ — very interested in this game _later_ , but it’s early and I’d really appreciate it if you’d drop it and just _fuck_ me.”

The laugh that gets him is a brighter one, more amused and far less dangerous, with Slade’s breath warm on his shoulder.

“Alright,” Slade agrees, easily enough though holding onto that amused tone. “Your wish is my command.”

The fingers pull away, which makes his retaliation of, “When you want it to be,” come out a little breathier than he’d prefer.

Hands curl around his hips, one leaving smudges of slickness in its wake, and pull him up onto his knees. His hands brace against the bed, thighs sliding apart in invitation as his wings flare up and open. He’s not interested in trying to hide his arousal; they’ve been at this too long for Slade not to be able to read him like an open book, and Dick knows that Slade _enjoys_ all those physical signs that he’s aroused.

Slade loves to drive him mad, to watch and make him utterly lose control, and if time allowed for it more often Dick doesn’t know if he’d ever have the strength to leave the bed. Slade can be… overpowering in the best of ways, and keeping up is a hell of a workout.

One hand slides up his back, ruffling through the sensitive down feathers at the base of one of his wings, making him arch up a bit, before it comes down over his shoulder to brace against the bed. The other hand slips off his hip, and Dick already knows how this goes but the shift of Slade’s hips and the guided, inwards press still makes his breath catch. His spine curves down, head tossing back as his breath finally comes out in a moan. The flare of his wings is high enough that he can feel the brush of Slade’s own, even before the massive limbs ease downwards, blanketing his with light pressure as Slade’s mouth presses to his neck.

“Yes,” Dick breathes, as Slade’s hips press up against him, leaving him full and hot and deliciously stretched. “God, _yes_.”

“ ‘Slade’ is fine,” is the immediate, teasing counter, and Dick can’t help but give a burst of laughter.

“Don’t be an ass,” he manages after that, as Slade’s free hand slides up his side and then back down.

“I don’t know, that’s asking a lot, Grayson.”

Slade wraps that free arm around his waist, palm pressing warm against his stomach for a moment before tugging him up. He’s expecting it, which makes it easy to let Slade pull him up till they’re both kneeling, and Slade’s wings curl in around him. The enhanced strength behind it means his own wings are forced to bend as well, and he shudders even before Slade’s wings have fully cocooned him, leaving only his head and neck free. There’s a deep, weirdly instinctual part of him that thinks that the fact that Slade’s wings are big enough to do that is _really hot_.

He’s sure Slade knows that, even if Dick’s never admitted it out loud.

He extracts one hand from the wrap of both his and Slade’s wings, reaching up to wrap it around the back of Slade’s neck as he leans his head back into one firm shoulder. “Maybe less talking, more fucking.”

Slade gives an amused huff of breath, mouth coming down to press beneath his ear. “ _You_ asking for less talking? What alternate reality did I wake up in this time?”

He groans. “ _Slade_.”

Despite the teasing, Slade gives into his request. Hips roll against his, slow but no less powerful for it, taking him in unhurried, sliding thrusts. Slade’s arms pin him in place as much as the wings, holding him still as he squirms at the sensation of it all, his breath coming harder as the slow fuck winds him higher bit by bit. Slade’s mouth is hot against his throat, breath steadier than his for now, chest pressed up against his back as much as possible. Dick would be lying if he said that the excess of physical contact wasn’t incredible all on its own; Slade’s always been good about giving him all of the touch that he wants, even without sex.

One of Slade’s hands slides down eventually, wrapping around his cock with practiced ease and pushing him into an arch, his own hands reaching to find Slade’s arms. Not that wrapping his hands around Slade’s forearms does anything but encourage him. Not that he would want it to.

He’s the one to break his ‘less talking’ request, moaning a low, “Slade, _more_. More, please.”

Slade’s wings release him then, flaring wide as Slade’s free arm tugs away from his grip and slides backwards, hand pressing firm between his shoulder blades and pushing him down. Slade's weight bears him down, presses him into the bed as his own wings flare wide again, now that they're free to. The hand on him stays, stroking in time with Slade's thrusts as they speed up. He moans, curling his free hand into the sheets as he rocks back against the thrusts.

He’s louder than Slade, always has been, but it doesn’t quite drown out the sound of Slade’s harder breathing, or the low groans he’s giving. Those only serve to push Dick higher, like the slight dig of the blunt nails of Slade’s hand, warm between the base of his wings. It’s an easy thing to let himself ease into that feeling, like he has so many times before.

It’s why he can let himself beg, in moans and breathless words, for Slade’s pace to increase, for those massive wings to come down over his, for the hand on his back to curl into his hair instead and arch his neck back with a hard pull.

He comes like that, with a shout and a hard flap of his wings, his nails digging into Slade’s arm for something to hold onto.

Slade takes longer, as he always does. Hands on his hips and body leaned down over his, hot against and in him, forehead pressing down between his shoulders. When he follows, it’s with a restrained groan and a few final thrusts. Those wings beat _hard_ above him, and Dick twists and arches with a pleased sigh at the rush of cool air across his skin, turning his head enough that he can catch sight of the spread of those grey-speckled wings. Wide and open, poised in the final moments of Slade’s pleasure, before they ease down, blanketing his once again as Slade breathes out against his back, hands squeezing his hips.

Slade lingers there for a minute, fingers sliding up his back, petting at his skin in idle, familiar movements. Calculated, maybe, but Dick is safe in the knowledge that Slade enjoys it when he’s pleased, so even if the touch is nothing but a play, that doesn’t meant that it’s callous manipulation. Slade, in his own way, cares about these things.

Which is why when they come apart Slade pulls him up to sitting, wrapping arms and then wings around him in an easy embrace, humming a satisfied note against his temple.

Dick leans back into the embrace, turning his head to catch Slade’s mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. He tangles their fingers together, his own wings lax beneath the wrap of Slade’s, relaxing into the warmth and the easy comfort. The smell of sex, and the press of their sweat-slicked skin against each other is as familiar as the tension of flight, and the wind through his feathers.

Slade eventually squeezes his fingers, breaking the kiss, and murmurs, “Still hungry, Grayson?”

Dick snorts, tips his head back onto Slade’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says through a smile. “Are you going to let me go now?”

“If you’ll let me come with you, and share some of that food.” A brief kiss, followed by a small smile that has an edge of danger to it. “Maybe I should hold you hostage till my demands are met.”

He leans up, catching Slade’s mouth one more time, for a little longer. “I think I can pay that ransom,” he murmurs, “just this once.”

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)


End file.
